


Somewhere Between Here and Forever

by Elmbird



Series: How Different We Were at Seventeen [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, POV Derek Hale, References to Knotting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elmbird/pseuds/Elmbird
Summary: _______Show me.Those had been Derek’s words. Now, he sits, claws digging into the faux leather on the arms of the computer chair, listening to the running water from the shower down the hall. His own arousal so strong, he can smell the scent of it filling Stiles’ room.Stiles' words had been vague, but leading…A fill in-the-blank of filthy thoughts and images had bloomed in Derek’s mind._________Mate, the word is from the marrow of his bones. The conversation isn't going to be simple.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: How Different We Were at Seventeen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133156
Comments: 8
Kudos: 183





	1. Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written to be included as part of Seventeen, but I made a choice to be more plot forward with that story, and in the end left it out. So, it can be read as part of that story ( falling between chapters five and six) or on its own.
> 
> Because I took it out of Seventeen and no longer had the concern of plot vs porn, I might have added some two thousands words of smut. Mind the tags! I always get nervous when posting this kind of thing. Hope you all like it. 
> 
> Feed back is always awesome, and means a lot. 
> 
> Oh! There is brief mention of breeding, but not enough for a tag.

_Show me_.

Those had been Derek’s words. Now, he sits, claws digging into the faux leather on the arms of the computer chair, listening to the running water from the shower down the hall. His own arousal so strong, he can smell the scent of it filling Stiles’ room.

_Show me._

Once he touches Stiles he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop. Not sure if he will be able to control his knot. A conversation the two of them will have to have, because Derek will need him to know. But, not tonight. There is a line, there needs to be a line. Talking about his knot tonight would blur that line. And things are already blurred to a fine haze.

Derek had turned off the overhead light before taking a seat in hopes the shadows of the room will keep him caged. The sound of running water is like a current of electricity running up his spine at a low hum. He can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his cock, a dull ache. Stiles is rushing, Derek’s acute hearing picks up the sound of a bottle of shampoo or conditioner bouncing on the floor of the shower having been knocked over or dropped from over eager hands. The noise draws his eyes up from the bedroom floor.

Stiles’ room is part mess, part organized chaos, like an extension of his mind. Once sorted through there is brilliance in that chaos. Or, maybe Derek is overthinking, and Stiles’ room is some version of what every seventeen year old’s is. There is a flash of his own room at this age, it dances behind his eyes, cooling his pulse. He closes his eyes to the image, locking it out of his mind. It’s a memory too painful to remember. A place that was once very real, but only exists now as ashy broken beams exposed to the elements.

Deep breathes brings the scent of Stiles’ sweat to Derek’s nose. The shirt he wore for Lacrosse practice lays discarded on the ground. Pheromones are still laced in the cotton threads touching the salt of sweat. The intention had been to watch a movie together, they are trying to do things that normal couples do, but Derek had gotten distracted. Being easily distracted is something new, and that he closely associates with Stiles’ scent, mouth, and skin. 

Between heated kisses and panted out breathes Stiles’ admission had been the tipping point. Both of them already too hard, a tangle of clothed limbs on Stiles’ bed, rutting and breathless. The words had been vague, but leading…

… _I’ve been touching myself, No, I know- like, no surprise. In the shower, I’ve been touching myself there, down south, like there- there… It feels good…_

A fill in-the-blank of filthy thoughts and images had bloomed behind Derek’s seeing eyes. A mist of steam barley hiding Stiles’ body and fingertips.

Stiles’ cheeks burned pink. His darks eyes big and open, vulnerability tinted the excited nervousness in his gaze. Derek thinks more than anything he had been looking for acceptance from him. They are each other’s first experience with the same sex, Derek thinks Stiles half expects him to change his mind or want him less. He won’t, it doesn’t work that way. The way he feels about Stiles is in the marrow of his bones, instinct rich. Offering nourishment to a soul he wasn’t sure he still had. He is not soulless, the fire didn’t burn it out of him. He is not made of ash. Being with Stiles has made it easier to see that, and finally he is starting to believe, there is more life to be lived. That his existence goes beyond trying to make amends with ghosts.

Derek’s mind had filled in those suggestive blanks with guilt inducing ease. Stiles is still seventeen, still a few months shy of eighteen. Derek wasn’t going to let them move this fast…

 _Show me._ Those had been his words, his desperate attempt to cling to the edge. To watch, but not touch. A truce, or maybe a trapped of his own making. One of the few things he is good at making, the failed alpha that he is. 

The sound of the shower turning off opens Derek’s eyes. It’s not long before the soft padding of bare feet making their way down the carpeted hallway follows. Stiles walks into the room, towel around his waist clutched tight in his hands. The light from a single lamp left on casting half his body in a warm glow. Wet hair pushed out of his face lets little droplets of water fall to his bare shoulders.

He is beautiful, Derek has tried telling him that, but, Stiles is equally as bad at listening to him say those words as Derek is at saying them. 

Stiles dips his head, squinting eyes trying find Derek in the shadows as he takes a cautious step forward, “Olly Olly oxen free?”He sounds unsure, his heartbeat a slow hard thud in his chest. 

“I’m right here.” Derek answer, giving away where he is hidden. How far he has put himself in the shadows, partially trying to hide from his own wants and needs, and shield Stiles from them as well. 

Stiles jerks in the direction of Derek’s voice, a huff of breath coming out as one corner of his mouth tugs up, creating a lopsided smile. After a moment of hesitation he offers, “If you want a front row seat, by all means.” One hand stretches out gesturing at the space in front of the bed where the light starts to fade.

“This is for the best.”

With a raised eyebrow Stiles shakes his head, “Whatever you say, big guy.” 

_Show me…._

There are no off the cuff remarks, words don’t come rushing out cashing after each other, racing to make the point, or get the thing Stiles wants said. This is the quiet Stiles, the Stiles that only a few know. Focused and serious, vulnerability touching the periphery.

It is sobering enough to bring Derek’s claws back in. The thick arousal from before that was was hard to think through begins to shift making room for Derek to understand and witness the innocents of what is happening. One the bed laid out on his back with his legs spread and feet planted, open and exposed, Stiles reaches with lube wet fingers to touch himself. For Derek to see. Because this is what he asked for.

Derek has been starving, the realization hits him in the gut like an unexpected blow. What he has needed, how long he has gone without it. Body deprived of nutrients. Unknowingly wasting away. Transfixed, Derek watches Stiles; the way lean muscles roll under his skin as he responds to his own touch, fingers circling his rim, spreading the wetness of lube. Slow and steady he teases at his own opening, fingertips ghosting over it before the touch deepens. 

The scent in the room is ripe, needy arousal so strong it is sweet, tangible on the tastebuds. What Derek is watching is a ripening, Stiles’ body heating up, little tremors run through his limbs as he pushes a lube coated finger inside of himself, seeking pleasure. He tosses his head back, lets a moan out that is part pleasure, part frustration as his arm and wrist work into stretched angles, giving leverage to search out pleasure from within.

In and out, the sound is wet. One finger becomes two.

Sight and smell makes Derek’s mouth flood with saliva, and his aching knot shames him for willfully ignoring his own basic need for so long, for years, never having knotted anyone before. Kate has chastised him for it, _Don’t you want to sweetie? Come on, you find me more than a little appealing, right?_ He had been too green, or - maybe in some way he had know…. Derek pushes the memory from his mind, it no longer gets the space it once did. It dies here. The final blow that kills it, his name on Stiles’ lips.

“ _Derek.”_

Hooded eyes search for Derek, pleading with the shadows to let him go. Stiles’ hips rock, body withering in movement on the bed, rucking up the towel and sheets underneath him. His other hand moves to fist in his hair, then drags down to cover his face, lips brushing his palm as he moans. 

With heavy steps Derek is moves like a sleepwalker, lost in haze. He finds himself standing at the edge of the bed staring down at Stiles, unsure of when he actually stood up.

From between nimble fingers Stiles’ eyes meet Derek’s, holds his gaze, then let his hand brush down to his chest, “Glad to see you finally made it.” It is teasingly said with a quiet intimacy that is new between them, finally comfortable enough with each other. There is a level of honesty to Stiles’ words, though. Those words reach a depths that Derek thinks he only truly knows. 

Jaw held tight, Derek nods. Finally he says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His rim is pink, Derek is not sure if it is always this color, or blushing from the attention given to it. He lets his fingers drift over it, cataloging Stiles’ responses; the quick little drawn in breath, a spasm in his thighs that lead to gentle buck of his hips that leads to his hard cock kicking against his taunt stomach. Derek’s own cock pushes against the confines of his jean, too hard, too swollen for there to be any room left for it to do more than that.

With his free hand Derek pops the button, unzips, giving himself more room to grow. He lets out a shaky breath, lips pressed against Stiles’ inner thigh. The bedroom floor Derek kneels on feels unsteady. This, what is happeningbetween them moves between delicate and primal, never settling on one or the other.

The wetness of the lube is suggestive, Derek’s mind offers up it would be better if it was his own come slicking the way, helping to ease his finger into Stiles’ tight heat. To feel Stiles from inside, this feeling is unlike anything Derek has ever know, it lives in a realm outside of his vocabulary. Touching Stiles’ where he is the most physically vulnerable, being given access to his pleasure like this, maybe there are not words for it.

Derek works his finger, touching at different depths, changing the angle, until he touches a place that makes Stiles shudder and moan. Makes him rock back asking for more first with his body and then with words, “ _There_. Keep touching me there, alright? Don’t stop _._ ” 

Derek strokes at the spot again, and Stiles shudders again, lower back slightly arching of the bed. 

Stiles’ head lulls to the side, eyes flutter open to takes in the pinch expression on Derek’s face, understanding his unspoken confusion, “It’s my prostate - you found it, and it feels really - _so good_.” The words fade off Stiles’ lips as Derek’s touch works another little pleasure filled noise out of him.

It’s easy for Derek to give all of his focus to this, to watch with brows furrowed in concentration as Stiles responds to his touch. And Stiles is not still, he stokes his own cock, fists at the sheets, shivers in pleasure when Derek works a second finger inside. Stiles’ pleasure builds in Derek’s own body, filling him up, making him run hot. Making it hard for him to think past marrow born instincts.

Stiles strung out and begging for more doesn’t help, only serves to make Derek’s hips rock so he can rut against the side of the bed. No better than a mindless animal.

“If you said yes, I wouldn’t say no.” Stiles pants out as he works himself up onto his forearms, to look down to where Derek is kneeling between his legs. His dark eyes widen as Derek’s flash blue. Wetting his lips he braves a few more words, “I know you don’t think I’m ready, but my readiness is… is mine. It’s not really your place to say otherwise.”

If it were that simple, Derek is not sure he would be able to say no. He can feel how ready Stiles is, has been hearing it in every breath of his that stutters to a halt and then releases as a moan. Has felt it from the inside where he is hot and slick, and responsive to Derek’s touch. More than anything he smells ripe. Like fruit that is ready to be eaten. 

“I have a knot, I need you to understand.” Derek fucks his fingers in deep, knuckles pressed to Stiles’ rim he keeps them there. “If I take you, I’m going to knot you. Do you understand what I’m saying, Stiles? It’s instinct. I don’t think my body is going to give me a choice.”

His pupils are blown out, arousal a drug Derek doesn’t think Stiles can see through. He needs Stiles to understand. “Roll over.”

“What?” Stiles licks his lips again, a wetness that is quick to dry with the labored breathes he is panting out. Chest raising and falling, heart beating a rabbit’s pace beneath the ribcage.

Slowly, carefully Derek pulls his fingers out of Stiles’ tight heat. “Roll over and onto your stomach, Stiles.”

On shaky limbs Stiles does as he is told, muttering, _oh my god,_ in breathy little gasps as he goes. The air in the room is heavy, thick with anticipation. Stiles brings his arms under his chest, palms pressed to the bed, then without being asked spreads his legs and raises his ass.

Derek’s knot ache to swell, to push against the bounds of tightness, to feel how Stiles’ body give to his. He moves to loops an arm around Stiles’ waist and to pull him all the way up and onto his knees. “Stay here, like this.” He says while ducking his head, moving to press his lips to the junction where neck meets should. His lips slightly parted drawing Stiles’ scent in with a shaky breath. 

“Yeah - okay.” A ragged breath spaces out the two words. His chest is still pressed the bed, but his ass is raised high enough in the air for his cock to hang heavy between his wide spread legs. As Derek pulls back his eyes catch the first dribble of precome that drops to the mess of bedding below.

Derek steps to reaches for the lube at the foot of the bed without taking his eyes away from the sight of Stiles. The flush from his cheeks has traveled down to bloom on his shoulders and kiss his back, a fine sheen of sweat dampens the hair that had started to dried at his temples. Head turn, cheek pressed to the bed, pretty dark eyes watch Derek soaks his fingers with the thick liquid. An excessive amount, but Derek would rather have too much than not enough.

The snap of the lid closing makes Stiles give a whole body shake, waking him from a trance. Derek works his way back onto the bed to kneel beside Stiles, who watches him the whole way. His eyes showing a returned clearness of mind that had been swallowed up by the keyed up energy from before. The smell of needy arousal hasn’t left him, thought, and Derek can smell his out scent of need mixing with it. The scents combined make a wet mess of the head of his cock, precome taunting him, waisted on cotton.

Derek holds up his hand, thumb and pinky bending to touch, three shiny fingers left up, lube runs down to his wrist. “Do you understand?”

“A test run, yeah. I got it.” The soft warm light from the lamp falls across Stiles’ eyes, turning them to amber and all the emotion held in them to gold, “ Derek, you’re not going to hurt me.” It’s a statement, one Derek didn’t know he needed to hear. Reassuring him that he is capable of more than destruction and failure.

He nods before ducking to press a kiss to Stiles lips. The kiss works as a, thank you and as a distraction. Three fingers brush gently, then push past resistance into hot heat. And Stiles is gasping open and wet against Derek’s mouth.

Pleasure has loosened Stiles enough for this. For Derek to find a rhythm as thrusts his fingers into and out of him. When Stiles rocks back to meet Derek’s thrusts, chasing after the pleasure he presses his free hand between sweat covered shoulder blades, “You won’t be able move like that. Not with my knot.”

 _“Fuck,_ okay _.”_

Derek slows his fingers, each in and out getting incrementally slower, but never shallower, until finally he stops, three fingers deep inside of Stiles. He grinds them in, knowing there is no way to get deeper. His hips stutter out shallow ruts mimicking the movement, wanting to be inside of Stiles, buried to the hilt and still trying to get deeper.

With one hand Stiles clutches as the bedding, knuckling going white, hips rutting, dirty little movement milking the pleasure from the fingers Derek has buried deep in his ass. He rubs his forehead back and forth on the sheets, panting out, _oh my god_ s as he reaches for his cock with his other hand. He makes quick work of stroking himself. There is no fineness to it, just desperation, even from his position above Derek can tell.

“When I knot you, when it swells, our bodies are going to be locked together.” The words come heavy off of his tongue, mind trailing after them, only realizing after they’ve been said that the rhetoric has changed. It’s not about if, but _when_. Derek pushes down with the fingers adding pressure to Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles moans out hard into the bed, body locking up, insides spasming around Dereks fingers, and muscles rolling under the hand he has on his back. The earthy scent of release hit the air faster than lighting strikes. Derek works every last drop of Stiles orgasm out of his shuddering body until he groans that it is too much. 

The fever that’s been building under Derek’s skin explodes in maddening need. He backs off of the bed creating distance and space, Stiles’ body too tempting, it would be too easy to take him, to use him as a vessel for release. He drops to the floor, landing hard on his knees. For once he wishes his body could hold bruises, wants the dull ache he has heard described as a ripple of what made them, the ghosts of colors that bloom from the hit.

His clothes are a cage and he is an animal, his pent up need for his own release drives his rushed movements, tears his jeans and briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock. He is already messy with precome, it wets the way for his hard working touch,tight grip, sounds slick as he feverishly touches himself. His fingers are still warm from being inside of Stiles, the realization draws a ragged sound out of him, makes him curve in on himself while his hips work to fuck up into his hand. 

At the sound of sheets rustling Derek’s eyes dart up to the bed. Stiles has crawled on hands and knees to the edge. With wide eyes and parted lips he watches Derek touching himself.The muscles in Derek’s abdomen jump, then pull tight, his cock flexes in his grip. He falls forward, the hand he is not using to stroke himself, taking his weight.

Stiles is right there leaning forward, catching Derek’s mouth with his own soft lips. The kiss is the only thing that keeps him from tumbling off the side of the bed. There is a moment of struggle for balance, then two palms come up cradle Derek's face, and nimble fingers touch at his brows. The kiss is wet and open, licking tongues only break apart for confessions carried on shaky breathes. 

“One day I’m going to fill you with my seed.” It is the deepest truth that Derek has to give. One that lays him bare, no matter if his release won’t take. The act still sacred.

Stiles answers with words he has said to Derek before, and time has changed the meaning of those words, Stiles isn't sixteen anymore and Derek isn't lost like he was when they first met.

Stiles says, “I’m not afraid of you.”

And, Derek thinks as his orgasm rips through him in shades of blue, black, and purple, I love you, can be said in so many ways.


	2. The Conversation: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another little bit that didn't make it into Seventeen. The pacing was just a little different and I wasn't sure how to add it in at the time. If you reading this in context to the other work it would come after chapter six. 
> 
> A big thanks you to everyone for their support, whether it's comments, or kudos, or just reading along. It's all awesome!
> 
> Feedback is always welcomed. Enjoy!

Derek hates Stiles’ room like this, it is a feeling that took him by surprise, and one he feels strongly. He tries not to clench his jaw, or show his distain for the cardboard boxes slowly being filled. The inanimate objects increasingly feel like his foe with every item Stiles places in them.

Stiles leaves for college with Scott in four days, he started packed yesterday.

“By the way, I can feel you silently pouting. Your scowl is actually tangible, I can feel it boring into the back of my head. Just so you know.”

“I’m not pouting.” Derek states with his jaw set a little too tight as he turns his back on Stiles to rifle through an open dresser drawer. In the course of his dealing with the supernatural the eighteen year old has managed to _barrow,_ which is a loose term, a number of books that Derek is annoyingly surprised at.

Tossing a look over his shoulder he holds a book up as evidence for Stiles to see, “I don’t remember saying you could _barrow_ this.”

Stiles looks up from the box he is filling with the contents of his top desk drawer to see which leather-bound book Derek has in hand. The guilt that flashes across his face he quickly shrugs off with shoulders reaching his ears, “Yeah, but that was a - _time is of the essence -_ type - situational borrowing.”

Derek shakes his head and walks over to add the book to the growing pile on the foot of the bed. He takes a seat next to the pile causing the tall stack to slide and spread out. He rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have to be here, he is not actually helping, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And if he is being honest, Stiles is doing a good job of putting up with him.

There are two months that haven’t started yet, but that have already stretched themselves out in front of Derek. Sixty days that tease into an eternity. It is time and space, a grace period for Stiles to gain any perspective he might need. Though, that’s not how Derek presented it to him. He simple said he would visit Stiles after he settles in, gets adjusted to living in a dorm, and his class load.

_I’m in. I’m all in, and being some three hundred odd miles away isn’t going to change that for me. But, if it does for you, that’s… okay. No judgment from me._

It’s a memory, made only a hand full of weeks ago; Stiles’ sitting in the passenger seat next to him, licking his lips, eyes darting nervously to Derek, then to the front door of his house, and back again before making his confession. Derek had been dropping him off at home after a date, because between the strange occurrences in Beacon Hills the’ve been trying to do what normal couples do.

The drumming of Stiles’ heartbeat, Derek can still feel how his own echoed it. He wants Stiles to have everything, but in the end he might not be that everything, and Stiles might still be too young to know that, despite being eighteen. What Derek can give, what he can offer is a kind of devotion that he was born with the capability of possessing. It’s a devotion that would be unfair of Derek to expect back. Derek loves him, and he loves him enough not to confuse his own self-interest with being what is ultimately best for Stiles.

On that fact and fact alone, is probably why the Sheriff hasn’t shot Derek yet. Stiles’ dad has been - hospitable towards him after the initial _wolf’s-bane laced bullets_ threats, and a couple of, _over my dead body_ statements _._ The Sheriff is a good man, and it seems to an extent he might think the same of Derek. Their hopes for Stiles aren’t that different, fashioned from a similar cloth, they both know the world needs more people like Stiles in it. 

Derek is a werewolf that has chosen his mate. There is a finality in that that is both breathtaking and frightening. It’s a place he has come to rest easy in, finally finding some version of peace he didn’t know he was looking for. He will always choose Stiles, but someday if Stiles no longer chooses him, he will walk way knowing he had the best life had to offer him, won’t spoil it with greed or desperation.

“Dude, Seriously. Forlorn much?”

Derek’s head pops up. Given Stiles’ concerned look he has been staring at the carpeted floor between his feet for too long of time.“What?” He snaps in response, not meaning too.

Stiles let out a big sigh and push up from his place on the floor, abandoning the bottom desk drawer he had been packing up, “You’ve been getting incrementally crankier with each box I pack.” He plops down on the bed while saying it, shoving the books out of his way as he goes.

“No, I haven’t.” Stiles cranes his head back to look at him like he is spewing gibberish. Derek lets out a sharp breath through his flared nostrils, then concedes, “Besides Cora..and _Peter,_ the people in my life - when they’re gone, they’re gone. Your heading off to college is different, I know, but…”He makes it farther than he thinks he would, words usually failing him sooner, but he still doesn’t know how to finish what he is trying to say.

Leaning back on the bed Stiles gives Derek a measured look that he catches from the corner of his eye.

“Okay, so, let’s not make two months two months. It’s an arbitrary number right? Look, Derek, the only reason I agreed to that was because I was following your lead. Maybe, spare me the routes of stupidity and let’s just take a shortcut to honesty?”

Derek lets his head lull to the side, meeting Stiles’ gaze dead on, he raises an eyebrow, can’t not. Stiles has always had a way with words that maneuvers between being irritating as hell and impressive in an irritating way. “ _Honesty shortcuts_?” Derek says in a deadpan tone. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Who doesn’t love an honesty shortcut?” The smiles slowly spreading across his face is mostly mischief, but his eyes hold a level of concern that lets Derek know the real tone of the conversation going forward.

The words aren’t there, Derek can’t seem to make what he needs to say materialize. It’s a feeling that is shapeless and expansive at the same time, and Stiles is asking for its form and measurements. He turns his gaze back to the floor trying to think. The sound of shuffling feet coming down the hallway becomes a back ground noise that slowly interrupting Derek’s thoughts as the steps grows increasingly noticeable, “You’re dad’s heading this way.”

“Great." Stiles mutters under his breath and stands to walk back over to his desk. Frustration showing in his stride. 

A second later there is a knock on the doorframe and the Sheriff is leaning past the threshold of the room. He takes a look around at the progress, makes a nod of approval, and then says,“Hey, I’m going to order a pizza. Derek, I assume you’re staying for dinner.”

“Is there a salad with that pizza?” Stiles asks, arms coming to fold across his chest, like he is getting ready to give his dad, the Sheriff, a lecture.

“Yeah, sure a small one.” He fires back. The lack of uniform does nothing to undermine his tone.

Stiles isn’t disarmed, “How about you rethink that serving size?”

The indignant look on the Sheriff’s face is one Derek has seen on Stiles’ face before, only slightly less animated. Age making the expression more reserved, but no less annoyed.

All those little things that a child gets from their parents, Derek was too young even at sixteen to be able to place what of him; the looks his gives, the way he holds himself, the simplest of gestures, came from his which of his parents. He has been compared to his mother in looks by people who knew her, and Laura used to tell him that he would get gloomy like their dad did, but he has trouble seeing any of those things in himself. There are bits and pieces of him that he doesn’t have answers for.

When they were alive Derek never thought to examine his own movements, facial expression, and gestures in comparison to those of his parents. He was fifteen, then sixteen, was too busy being secretly with Paige and then later, reckless with Kate. And now it is something he can’t get back. All those years, sixteen of them, and he was loosing something without even knowing it.

Stiles knows, though. That must be why he fights so hard to take care of his dad. He has half the loss of Derek’s, only his mother gone, but maybe that’s worse. Knowing what there is to loose. 

The conversation between him and Stiles isn’t finished, just postponed. The banter about dinner moving on to something about Gelato. The night’s meal has become a convenient rain check for Derek. 


	3. The Conversation: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last little bit. I really wanted for Stiles' dad and Derek to have a conversation, and share a bit of this story. 
> 
> Hope everyone likes it. Feedback and comments are always cool.

Dinner wasn’t a long affair given the amount of time the debate over one or two pints of Gelato took. The Sheriff is on night duty this evening. He ate quickly and then hurried to change into his uniform leaving Stiles and Derek to do the dishes in silence. Standing next to each other at the sink the side glances they have been exchanging feel like a game of tag that neither one of them is winning. Worst of all the teenager’s frustration is audible. Short breaths are drawn in like he is about to launch into a game of twenty questions, only for those breaths to then die as a frustrated sighs being let out in huffs before he shoves another wet dish needing to dried into Derek's hands.

As the Sheriff is about to head out for his shift he comes back into the kitchen, and asks Derek to walk him out to his patrol car. He says there is something he want to talk with him about. The request get’s a raised eyebrow from Derek, and a hasty protest from Stiles, who sends soap suds flying to the floor with a wide gesture. 

It is late summer and the sun is setting noticeable sooner than it had a month ago, pink and orange rays streak the sky. The end of summer has a scent, like all seasons do. Derek catches it on the breeze, a warmth that is fading, heat no longer stretching out to hold on through the night. The scent of green foliage warmed by the sun taking up less space in the air. 

Derek and the Sheriff stand beside the patrol car, a good couple feet separates them. The distance doesn’t make for a standoff, only notes the level ofcomfortable the two men have with each other at this time, it’s a manageable amount of distance.

With a sharp inhale of breath the Sheriff starts talking, “Listen, I assume that if Stiles hasn’t already asked you to keep any eye on me, he’s going to. And, if you could just do me the favor of reassuring him I’m going to be okay, here on my own - - I’d appreciated it.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Derek gives a tight nod, and then adds, “He hasn’t, though. Not yet anyways, but I wound’t be surprised if he did.”

“Thanks.” The older man holds Derek’s gaze, eyes searching, looking for something. The expression on his face is one of a father trying to make the right choice, weighing out all the details, trying to see the bigger picture. The bigger picture being that Derek will play some part in his son’s future.

The weight of the moment becomes undeniable as the seconds tick by. Derek crosses his arms trying to brace himself against it, shifts his feet too, widening his stance, “I assume that wasn’t the only reason you asked me to come out here.”

Sighing the Sheriff shakes his head, “Yeah, no it wasn’t. Look, you’re not my first choice for my son. That’s probably no secret, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the two of you to be happy.” He pause to let Derek take in his words, waits for a nod of understanding from him before he continues, “Stiles takes after his mother in a lot of ways. That quickness he has, that’s one of the things he got from Claudia.” There is a sad smile that pulls atthe corner of his mouth. Derek knows what it is to remember someone you loved. How the simplest of memory can hold both beauty and pain,“She, was one of those types of people that needed words. The first couple years of our marriage were rocky because I wasn’t too good at talking about things. I guess I’m still not. What I’m trying to say is, I think you’ve got something bottled up inside, and if I can see that, Stiles most certainly can. The less words you give him, the farther that mind of his is going to run.”

The Sheriff might be a man a few words, but what he says carries no less weight. Stiles and his father rarely if ever mention Claudia Stilinski, her loss still too raw, will likely always be. Derek knows the feeling, understands it well. Mentioning either of his parents feels like an act that requires the gentlest touch, like handling fine china that breaks too easily. The biting pain that was once egged on his guilt has finally subsided, but the loss will always feel in someways - fresh.

With the Sheriff’s words Derek is allowed a deeper glimpse of who this man is. A man, who by the death of his wife was set to the task of being solely responsible for the raising of their child, something he probably never imagined he would have to do. How often does the Sheriff wonder if has done right by his late wife, done right in raising their son?A question that will never be answered, and possibly the reason for the distant pain Derek can see in the older man’s eyes.

Derek can feel surprise touching his features, the furrow of his brows, “Okay.” He looks down at the ground for a second to let what has been said finish sinking in, and then after that back up to say,“Thank you.” The hard edge of his voice only communicating how seriously he has taken what has been said.

In one breath the Sheriff moves from taking Derek’s words with their intended sincerity to pointedly stating with a stern face,“But, if you hurt my son…”

“Yeah, wolf-bane’s bullet.” Derek finishes for him with a fact giving tone that doesn’t miss a beat. 

“You bet your ass.”

“So, on a scale of one to awkward, how did the convo with my dad go?” Stiles ask as soon as Derek steps foot into his bedroom, tone serious despite the sarcastic delivery. He is back to packing, having moved on from his desk to the closet. Another box sits on the floor by his feet. Derek glares at it, letting the brown cardboard distract him for a moment.

“He wants what is best for you. We both do.” He answers after a moment of hesitation. 

Stiles turns to face Derek, and the Sheriff wasn’t wrong, Stiles has a look on his face like Derek has been keeping something from him and he knows it. The quick deliberate beat of his heart reinforces that. The pile of towels in his arms gets tossed into the box without so much as a glance from him. “Yeah, and what is it you want for me, Derek? Kind of ready to take that shortcut to the truth.”He squares his shoulder and holds his ground. 

They stand facing each other, Stiles illuminated from the light in the closet behind him and Derek from the light spilling in from the hallway through the bedroom door. Dusk has settle around them, the bedroom dim besides the for those two light sources.

With purpose Derek takes a step forward. This isn’t a blind leap of faith, he can see what is in front of him.

“I want you to go to college. I want you to have all the experience that any eighteen year old should be having.I want you to have all the things I didn’t have because I know how important they are,” Derek feels like he is pleading, each word pressing to make a point, coming out a little too rushed and on top of the other. His tone only falling short of barking orders. He grimace at his own delivery, “Stiles, you’re not wrong in thinking that what we have, could be great. But, I don’t want you thinking it’s the only great thing out there.”

The upheaval of Stiles’ room around them adds to the feeling of being in uncharted territories. Boxes piling up, stacks of clean clothing ready to go, the things bought new for Stiles’ dorm room still fresh in shopping bags, all signs of how much is changing. Of how soon he will be gone.

“And, that’s because you’re in love me?” Stiles asks, heading cocking to the side to give Derek the once over. In this moment he is an open book for the teenager to read.

“ _Yes.”_ That’s not the secret, though. That’s the hangup, Derek’s been keeping his nature a secret, trying to push it down and keep it as far away from Stiles as possible. He takes another step forward willing himself with the movement to say what needs to be said,“Because, you’re _it,_ for me. I will never choose someone else because I’ve already made my choice. Stiles, however you live your life, I don’t want you living that as its stipulation.”

Derek can see the weight of his words sinking in as Stiles nods and breaks eye contact to look down. He fists his hands in the pockets of his hoody, shoulders rolling forward with the movement.

For a second Stiles is the Stiles of sixteen, stubborn and irritated with Derek’s lack of belief in him. They’re not in his room anymore; they are outside of the high school luring the alpha out of hiding, they are at the animal clinic, and Stiles has just helped to save his life right after he almost had to cut his arm off. They might as well be back in the pool… it’s all there in a flash, all those times Derek steeled himself against Stiles. 

Taking a deliberate step forward Stiles raises his dark eyes to search over Derek’s face, determination furrows his brows. Before saying anything he licks over his bottom lip, it's a nervous tick, or self-soothing, or both. “Hey, Derek?”

“What?” Derek sounds exasperated to his own ears, voice quiet and rough. He is worn thin, more than a little tired of himself. Two steps forward and one step back, this dance he has been doing with Stiles is wearing on the both of them. A few days ago he was so sure, but then Stiles had started to pack.

Stiles tips his chin up the rest of the way, the curve of his nose perfect. He is defiant and brave as ever.Beautiful dark eyes framed by dark lashes lock with Derek’s eyes, it’s a gaze he can feel, it reaches out like fingertips to send electric touch up his spine.

“I’m in love you too.” There is no waver in his voice or the steady thud of his heartbeat.

Derek has know, has know for a long time, though he doesn’t know the specific point in which that knowledge started, and it doesn’t change the way the words prickle under his skin, like tiny air bubbles rushing to the surface after jumping into water.It’s a rush, “I know.”

After a drawn out moment passes the corner of Stiles’ mouth tugs up the littlest bit, a lopsided grin begins to show. His face softens and eyes dance with growing warmth, “There’s a movie reference in that statement, which is probably lost on you. This little film called the, Empire Strikes Back.” He shrugs an apology for the movie reference he couldn’t help pointing out. Despite the growing smile, his serious eyes still hold the thread of what has been said, a thread that is tied into bow, a promise, a keep-sake.

Derek huffs out a breath, half a laugh, the tension from before is fading, “I know what Star Wars is, Stiles.”

The difference in their heights is the right amount, those few inches that Derek has on Stiles makes bowing his head one of the easiest ways of asking for a kiss. “Did you hear what I said? Before?” He asks because the two of them are going to get lost once they start kissing, touching. Getting lost in Stiles is the same as being found. An infinity loop.

They are toe to toe, all Stiles has to do is tilt his head up a fraction more. He does, their noses almost brush, but he keeps pulled back just far enough so that he can look in Derek’s eyes while answering,“Dude, I have two ears that work perfectly fine. And, I think that was your way of maybe telling me I’m your _mate,_ or something like that.”

That one word, _mate,_ is made and fashioned from the marrow of Derek’s bones. He nods, yes, and doesn’t break eye contact with Stiles as he tilts his head to the side a millimeter of an inch, a careful measurement that lets his panted out warm breath brush against Stiles parted lips. An invitation.

In understanding Stiles mimics Derek’s nod, their lips so much closer. “I have questions, a whole lot of questions. I mean, I think it’s a born werewolf thing and not a turned werewolf thing, but the logistics would still be nice to have.” He mumbles, drawing closer, lips finally touching, but not kissing. He is holding out for Derek’s answer.

Derek speaks, lips brushing against Stiles with each syllable, “It is. Any question you have, I’ll answer honestly.” It’s a vow that is sealed with a kiss. Lips finally pressing together in deep need. Their movements are fluid, echos that are given answers. Back arching inwards Stiles presses forward, and Derek curves around him holding him tight. 

The little gasp that escapes Stiles’ mouth as Derek backs him up against the wall gives room to deepen the kiss with tongue, make it open and wet. Each sloppily showing their need with hands that push and pull at fabric, but can’t seen to discard an item of clothing. They are too eager to touch to find any kind of coordination. _Skinny, defenseless, Stiles,_ can steal Derek’s coordination, rob his mind of any other thought than to touch and feel, and fuel his basic instincts.

“What gave it away?” The question is out of his mouth, asked against the stretch of neck Stiles has offered for Derek to wetly kiss at.

“Hmmm?” The vibrations tickles Derek’s lips. He pulls back to catch Stiles’ eyes willing him to understand, still too hesitant to say _that word._ Stiles hums while running his hands up Derek’s shoulders to laces his fingers together at the back of Derek’s neck. “Oh - - I mean believe it or not you’re not as subtle as you think you are.” 

Derek continues with the hard gaze, “As opposed to what?”

Stiles scoffs, rolls his eyes, and shimmies against the wall, like he is trying to get comfortable before diving into an explanation. Under his hands Derek can’t help, but be slightly distracted by the back and forth sway of Stiles’ hips, holds a little tighter, thumbs digging in under hip bones. A smug smile blooms across Stiles’ face he gives his hips one more rock side to side for good measure.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Alright, there are a couple little things, over protective type things. Like, anytime we are in town walking on a sidewalk you take the outside, you literally will herd me to the inside if I’m not walking there already. You act like cars are purposefully going to leap onto the sidewalk and give chase.” And, yeah, Derek can’t argue that. It is something he does. Something he remembers watching his farther do with his mother. Even though she was an Alpha and he was a beta. Derek gives a tight nod to which Stiles gives a satisfied look before continuing on in a more serious tone,“Then there have been a couple times when I was having a nightmare, and you have woken up before I do. I don’t have to be screaming, or flailing around, or anything. You’re - - attuned to me? I guess? Plus, I heard what Peter said to you that one time, and the knotting would seem little excessive if what is happening between us was just for kicks.” 

Pulling in a deep breath Derek tries to calm himself.The mention of his knot, in that way from Stiles has him feeling hot, can fill the dull ache at the base of his cock. There are sights and sounds that flash through his memory, sweat covered skin and broken moans.He has a problem controlling his knot with Stiles. His body always eager and responsive to him in away it has never been with anyone else. “And?” Derek asks through gritted teeth knowing there is more.

“Oh my god!” Stiles rolls his eyes, “And, I also might have spent a few hours researching, hence those couple books I didn’t mention borrowing.”

“ _Time is of the essence_?” Derek questions, feeding Stiles’ phrasing back to him.

“ _Yep._ ” He uses the hold he has on the back of Derek’s neck to real him in for a kiss, but stops just short,“Look, it’s a little intense and a lot to think about, sure. But this relationship doesn’t work if I keep you from feeling what you are feel and vise versa. So, you’re getting mate vibes from this- us. I’m okay with that. Maybe even a little flattered, not that it should go to your head or anything, big guy.”

Derek pushes forward into the waiting kiss, hands drawing up Stiles’ back to rest between his shoulder blades and hold him close. He pulls back just long enough to breath out the words, “No more packing. Not tonight.”

There is an empty carton of chocolate Gelato on the night stand tipped over from the weight of two spoons. The room smell like sex and sugar. Sweet and salty. The salt comes from sweat and silky wet release that still lightly dampens the bedding. It had been wet and messy, what they did. Getting Stiles’ blood sugar back up had taken priority over properly cleaning up.

Most of the come stained sheets are on the floor, not that they are needed, though, the night air coming through the window is warm enough. On the bed Stiles lays on his stomach with his head cradles in his arms and turned towards Derek. His naked body on display. There are a couple marks, a few small bruises starting to form. They made it to the bedroom floor before they made it to the bed. The first slick mess had been made in their pants with wild rutting and shameless dry humping that only stayed dry for so long.

“We should shower.” Derek hears himself saying absent-mildly, is distracted by Stiles, who is running his tongue over his bottom lip like there is till sweetness there to taste.

Stiles shrugs, then reaches out a hand to tap with his fingertips a thoughtless rhythm against Derek’s shoulder, who is just as naked and just sunken into the bed. There is no real rush to move from this moment, in a few days Stiles will be off to college, and Derek doesn't want to look back and think he rushed from this. It's not hard to tell Stiles is thinking, the wheels of his mind are turning, be it at slower speed, the pleasure of release has a quieting effect on his mind.

A stillness settles over Stiles, fingertips coming to a halt. His eyes dart up, from where he was watching the tap- tap -tap of made up morse code. Suddenly he is more serious than Derek has ever seen him. It’s the kind a seriousness that makes a heart skip a beat.

“This, it is already great. Before, what you said about it, the whole it, _could be great -_ thing. It already is. Derek, we are already great.” 

There is more nakedness in this bedroom than just their bodies. Truth and love are bare things, need no dressings or frills. 

Slowly Derek nods, reaches out to touch Stiles. 

It is. They are.


End file.
